Malzahir wanted to die.
He had truly given up all hope in life.
He had given his entire life, his everything, to the tribe.
'And look how that turned out…' He mocked himself internally, wishing he could rewind time.
Malzahir's earliest memories were filled with the rough laughter of warriors and the scent of blood and sand. His parents, both warriors who awakened bloodline markings, had been his heroes—until they weren't.
His parents had died defending the tribe from the raid of an enemy tribe when he was just a toddler, and too young to even remember their faces.
Since then his grandmother became his whole world and his only family.
Unfortunately, despite the heroic sacrifice of his family, aside from a small pouch of gold thrown at his grandmother's feet in compensation, most of them showed no care for the child of the warriors who fought by their side.
